Enigma
by movieholic
Summary: A gray smoke ring floated across the table. A nonchalant shrug. "You wanted the story, now you're getting it."
1. Chapter 1

_Whir. _

_-click-_

"Ya know-" Growing smirk. Raise of eyebrows. "This isn't my first interrogation...or my first time _being_ interrogated."

"You've been interrogated before?"

Pause. "That thing isn't on now is it? This is all off the record?"

"It's on."

"Look, I'm no perp-" Anger laced words. Face and neck darkening red.

"We know."

"Turn it off. Now."

"Sir-"

"_Now_."

_-click-_

_Whir._

_-click-_

"Again." Demanding, cool, and calm.

"I _already_ told you." Exhausted, angered, and annoyed.

Silence, then, "Again."

A deep sigh. "Fine, it started a few weeks ag-"

"How many? Exactly."

"I don't know...two? Three?"

"Was it two? Or was it three? _Exactly_."

"Three...it was three, okay?"

"Continue."

"Right. It started three weeks ago..."

"What started? Be specific."

"Look, do you want me to tell you or not? Jesus." Brief pause before a quirk of the eyebrow and, "Do you mind?" Lights up a cigarette without a response. Inhales deeply, black pupils constrict, brushes smoke away from face and coughs. Puckers pink lips, blows out silver smoke rings. So quiet that he could almost hear the burning paper peel away in ashy flakes.

Clearing of throat. Female voice. Authoritative. "I didn't know you smoked, Detective."

Narrowing of eyes. "No shit? Well it seems that you guys don't know jack about me." The sarcasm thick.

Silence ensues once more. First male shakes his head disapprovingly.

_Whir._

_-click-_

"Again."

"Christ Almighty." Leans forward quickly, cig dangling from his lips."Alright. Three weeks ago it all went to shit. It just all went to shit."

_Elliot Stabler leaned back in his wooden chair, stretching his arms before pulling them back to lace his fingers behind his head. He crossed one ankle of the other, a content smile on his face broken only once by a large yawn._

_Olivia looked up from her disorganized desk. She observed her partner's desk with obvious disdain before shaking her head in disgust and looking back down at her yellow legal pad. She jotted down a few notes before sighing and throwing the pen down in front of her. She rested her elbows on the bumpy surface and cradled her head in her hands. Feeling as though she was being watched, she glance up and caught Elliot's amused stare._

_"Can I help you, El?"_

_"Nope," he replied simply. He began rocking his chair back and forth, like a cradle._

_Olivia felt her lip curl up in confusion and annoyance at her partner's positive attitude. She shook her head and practically demanded why he was so happy._

_Elliot shrugged, but the smile remained on his face. He bought his hands to his lap, still laced together. "A guy can't be happy once in awhile?"_

_Olivia resisted the urge to snort. Although she knew deep down that even if she did, Elliot and the other male detectives wouldn't have mind, she was practically one of the guys as it was. "In our line of work? No way."_

_He shrugged again, "Good day, I guess."_

_Olivia felt an infectious smile replace her bemused scowl, "God knows we need one."_

_Elliot tilted his head to the side, "God owes us one anyway," he claimed gently._

_"Hmm," Olivia nodded in agreement, "You're right."_

_-click-_

"Stop. Is this relevant?"

A gray smoke ring floated across the table. A nonchalant shrug."You wanted the story, now you're getting it."

Heated shake of the head. "No Detective. We want the facts."

A scoffing laugh, then a somber mocking impression, "'Just the facts ma'am.'"

"Again. From where you left off. Just. The. Facts."

Another easy roll of the shoulders, he did that often it seemed. He plucked the glowing cigarette from his lips with a practiced ease. Rolling it in between his fingers, he blew one last puff of smoke out before crushing the red end of the rolled up paper in an ashtray. A faint sizzle could be heard before another heavy sigh.

"It's relevant to me you assholes," he said softly, no sting in the words, but mere exhaustion.

_Whir._

_-click-_

_"I just got off the phone with the Captain over at the 17th precinct...wants to know if we need his detective or not...what do you want me to tell him?"_

_Elliot and Olivia exchanged amused expressions as Munch said, "You're asking us? You're hard-working, underpaid detectives?"_

_Cragen placed his hands in his pockets and jiggled them, an old habit of his, "Why yes, John, I'm asking you lowly bottom feeders for an answer. So what is it?"_

_John shrugged, "Not for me to say, this is their case," he motioned towards Elliot and Olivia._

_Cragen sighed inaudibly and turned to face his two best detectives, "Stabler? Benson?"_

_Olivia looked over at Elliot, knowing that he would agree without even having to ask him aloud,"Tell him sure. We could use the help we can get."_

_Cragen nodded curtly, "Good."_

_Before their captain could return to his office, Elliot called out, "Hey, Cap?"  
The older man stopped and turned around. Elliot twisted in his chair in order to face him. "This detective..."_

_Don nodded in the affirmative, "She's trained, she's smart, and better yet, she's young." With those words, and a playful wink tossed at Stabler, Cragen returned to his office._

_Elliot turned to face Olivia, who wore a large smile. "What," he laughed._

_"Nothing," she claimed, although she laughed as well._

_-click-_

"I think we're getting somewhere." Approval, firm nod, exchange of stoic expressions.

Leaning back in his creaky chair. "That was relevant, by the way," he pointed out half as smugly as he would have any other day. The female almost laughed, judging by the invisible twitch of the upper lip.

_-click-_

"Continue; tell us briefly what the case was, how the female detective was invol-"

"Sandra." Remorseful look, pained even, in his eyes. "Her name was Sandra."

"We know. It's here on file. Continue."

Shake of head. Anger evident. Pushing himself onto his elbows, leaning forward. "Not until you call her by her name. She wasn't just some detective, she was a human being, she had feelings too." Disgusted, judging look. "You two wouldn't know what those are, would you?"

"No. Continue."

"She's not just some statistic-"

"_Continue_, Detective."

Leaning back heavily once more, defeated. "We needed her for an undercover op." Fingers laced together tightly, hands in lap.

"Elaborate. What op?"

Brief pause. "I know you turned on the recorder again," he muttered under his breath, shooting a glare across the table.

"Should we beg?" the female seems to be enjoying this.

"Go to hell."

"Certainly. After you tell us more about this operation, why the female was needed...what went wrong?" The male, he seems to be enjoying this as well.

Tired glare through half-lidded eyes. Pulls at tie until it hangs around his thick neck loosely. "Can I get a cup of coffee?"

"Later."

Bites bottom lip, nods in understanding.. "Right, right." Small, exhausted laugh. "You need to find some lackey to shit in the pot first, before serving it, right? Got it."

_-click-_

"Someone get him his coffee?" the male calls out. Their alone in their small, enclosed room, but someone is most certainly watching. Always watching. An exchange of small, barely held smiles as he adds, "And please don't shit in it."

A crisp cackle from an intercom. White noise. Wince.

"Alright, detective?"

"Fine," he mutters, crossing arms across his broad chest tightly, "Let's keep going."

-_click-_

Acceptance via more bobbing heads. "Good, good. The op? What was it?"

Another soft sigh, crick of the neck. "It was a failed one..."

* * *

**TBC...**

**Please Review.  
**


	2. Chapter 2

_-click-_

_"Stabler, Benson, I'd like you to meet our newest addition to our already_ glorious _team. Det. Sandra Hanson."_

_Elliot and Olivia respectively shook the young woman's hand, trying to forgo her extremely youthful looks. She smiled up at them, brushing a strand of auburn hair away from her forehead as she stepped back next to Cragen. _

_"Nice to meet you," she claimed, her voice strong and confident. She grinned, "I can't wait to get this show on the road and catch this creep."_

_Elliot and Olivia smiled and looked at one another. "You'll fit in just fine," Elliot stated with a friendly wink._

_Cragen clapped Elliot on the shoulder, "Show her the ropes, brief her on the op and," he turned to face Sandra, "Whatever you do, avoid the coffee."_

_Sandra laughed and thanked him. When he left the trio standing alone, she turned to the defectives and shrugged, "Nice guy."_

_"Yeah," Olivia sighed._

_"Our father, the Don." Elliot joked before scrunching his face, "Lets go upstairs, we can brief you on our newest perv."_

_"Joy," the young looking woman put in as she began climbing the stairs._

_Elliot turned to face Olivia, a hand on the banister to support his weight. "Oh yeah, just fine."_

_A few minutes later, Elliot, Olivia and Sandra were gazing down at black and white photos of different people and places. Elliot pointed to the one closest to his propped elbow._

_"Our perp, Buck Westley. Your average American: fat, poor and lazy. He's forty-two years old, and fancies himself the, the uh...what was it Liv?"_

_Olivia rolled her eyes upward, as if concentrating. "Oh, I think it was 'the King of all Little Princesses.'" _

_"Sick," muttered Sandra as Elliot nodded in agreement._

_"Yeah," he agreed before pointing to another picture. The black and white photo was one of a young teen, dark haired pulled back and youthful face beaten to a darker shade. "Ashley Wilkinson, Princess number five, we believe."_

_"The other four...?"_

_"Dead." Olivia spoke up._

_"We believe this guy, Buck, goes after the young little girls...dark hair, Caucasian." Elliot continued, pointing to various pictures of girls, all autopsy photos._

_"And that's where I come in." _

_Elliot and Olivia looked over at one another as Elliot half-asked, half stated, "If you're ready..."_

_"Oh yeah," she grinned, "Always."_

_-click-_

"So Detective Hanson was to be used as bait?" Not a serious question.

Squint of eyes. Arms folded over chest.

"Yeah, that's what I just said." Leans forward quickly. "But Westley had an Ace up his sleeve...he had a partner...we didn't know." Leans back. Pitiful look. "We didn't know."

_Whir._

_-click-_

_"I then proceed to tell her the type of girls Buck goes after-"_

_"And? What type is that?"_

_"It's on file, look it up."_

_"Tell us. Enlighten us."_

_Audible snort. "Young. Little girls. Bright eyed and bushy tailed kids with brown hair and their whole lives ahead of them."_

_"Race?"_

_"Caucasian...all of 'em."_

_-click-_

"So, this man, Buck Westley, likes the kiddies?"

Almost inaudible growl. "You just heard me say it."

The male looks over at the female. She leans forward slightly. Slightly.

_Whir._

_-click-_

"Tell us, Detective, of the events that happened on-"

"March 6th? Of this year?" Interruption. Again. It gets old, but so does the repeated questions. Leans back mockingly. "The day of our fuckin' operation?"

"Yes. Tell us what happened."

Another deep sigh, "We-"

"Who."

"Detectives Benson, Hanson and I."

"Continue."

"We placed our decoy, Hanson..."

_"Near Amsterdam Ave. at 110th_ _St." Elliot muttered into his hand, where a small microphone had been placed close to his wrist._

_Elliot surveyed his surroundings, noting Benson sitting on a bench nearby and Hanson casually walking down the sidewalk. She paused to admire something in a window, when Elliot had caught sight of Buck coming from the opposite direction. "He's coming near the decoy now," there was a brief pause before Elliot added, "Standing next to her. Stand down until he makes a move."_

_"El..." it was Olivia's voice. He looked up to see her watching the pair across the street. Buck seemed to be talking to Hanson, making her laugh. However, from her extremely worried and scared expression, Elliot felt like this wasn't connected._

_"Stand down," he repeated anyway, rubbing his hands together in an effort to keep himself warm. _

_"Elliot, shit..." Olivia leaped off the bench and walked towards him, her head down and away from passersby on the opposite side of the street. Brushing by Elliot, she muttered, "Tall male, Caucasian, balding, wearing glasses...previous undercover case. He could easily make me."_

_Elliot scanned the streets and sidewalks, lips parted slightly. He expelled some white air, shivering, as he struggled to find the man Olivia was talking about and keep an eye on Hanson. "Where, Liv?"_

_She stood on the corner of the street they both occupied, whispering into her own mic, "Close to Buck and Hanson. He can't see me, Elliot. Look, watch after Hanson, I'll circle the block and come around. He should be gone by then."_

_Elliot shook his head, confused and cold. "Wha-?"_

_"Cynthia?" a male's voice called out, surprised. _

_"Oh shit, Elliot. Watch Hanson. Watch Hanson." she muttered, turning to face the male, who was striding across the street to see her. She plastered a large, goofy grin on her face and exclaimed, "Mark? Mark Greene it is you!" in a overly cheerful tone, an accent from the south evident._

_Elliot watched the two hug and kiss each other on the cheek. He proceeded to watch out of the corner of his eyes, listening as Olivia asked, "What brings you down to big, bad New York City!"_

_Mark's initial smile diminished slightly. He shuffled his two feet and looked at the ground, adjusting his glasses. "I've been sick, came up here to see a Doctor."_

_"A doctor! Oh, physician heal thyself," she cried jokingly._

_Mark laughed along, although it sounded forced to Elliot's ears. "Yeah, so, uh, what are you doing here? I mean, in New York."_

_"Little ol' me? I was up here visiting some friends, you know, taking a holiday. Admiring the people here; they sure are different than Chicago!"_

_A soft chuckle, "They sure are."_

_Elliot jerked suddenly. People...admiring...he scanned the opposite street. Gone. Hanson and Buck were gone._

_-click-_

"Gone?"

Sip of steaming coffee. Grimace, exaggerated. "Yeah. I wasn't paying attention. I was so caught up with what they were saying that I hadn't seen the two leave."

Exchange of looks. Female pipes up, "You didn't see them leave because you were caught up in your partners affairs?"

Rolling of eyes. Pushes coffee away, but keeps one hand wrapped around firmly. For warmth? Comfort? "I know what you're thinking, but we've cleared this up already. That's largely why I'm here now..."

"What is?" Innocent. Lie. Liars.

Sigh. Again. "If it wasn't for Hanson's captain making those false accusations against me, none of this would have happened."

_Whir._

_-click-_

"But Hanson would still be dead; Greene still dead." Pointing out the facts, the cold hard truth. Good for them.

Sagging shoulders, reluctant nod. "Murder, tumor. I only feel at fault for one."

"Whose?"

"Hanson's. It was my fault. I admit it, I've been admitting it. Everyone tells me, "No, it's not, it would have happened anyway." But I know," taps temple a bit too forcefully, "I know."

"Know...?"

"That if I hadn't got so caught up with Liv's problem, that I would have paid attention and we wouldn't have lost contact with Hanson till-" stops short, shuddering breath.

"Till...?" Pricks, never finish a sentence. They know. Everyone knows.

"Till her death."

Silence.

_-click-_

_Whir._

_-click-_

Pushes cup of coffee away. "Can I get another cup? This tastes like shit."

_-click-

* * *

_

**TBC...**

**Please Review.  
**


	3. Chapter 3

_Whir._

_Whir._

_-click-_

"You said he had an Ace. A partner. Who was he?"

Blue eyes wide, once wondrous, now hardened. "Who? Buck? Yeah, he had a partner. Some snot-nosed punk from the Bronx."

"How do you know?"

"Look, genius, we found Hanson, Buck and his butt-buddy...we were just too late."

Pause.

"How did you find Hanson?"

"How do you think? We low-jacked her."

Raised eyebrows. "'Low-jacked her?'"

"Yep. Followed the little blinking dot to some warehouse, where our already failed operation got worse." Says it simply. Two plus two equals four.

"Worse? How so?" The female, seemingly curious. How odd.

Cocked head to the side. "Hanson was dead, for one." Simply said. Again. Four plus four equals eight. "Plus, Benson needed to lose Greene and cover me."

"He hadn't gone yet?"

Shakes head. Negative. "No, he wanted to catch up some time, talk...you know. If you ask me," leans forward, near whisper, "He just wanted to talk to someone he knew, but didn't hafta see everyday, because the poor guy knew."

"Knew what?" Questions, questions. Didn't they learn anything yet?

Leans back, uncomfortable in the chair. "He knew he was going to die."

Nods. Agreement. Finally. "Of a brain tumor. Yes, we know."

"You asked, Chief." Smart ass. Cocky.

"What then? Did Benson lose him?"

Bites lower lip, licks the pink flesh with a darting tongue. "Yeah, at the moment. He knew something was wrong, something was up. She told him eventually what was really happening, later. At the bullpen she told him everything. He had to go anyway...was running late for a meeting, we were running out of time."

"So you tracked Hanson down, found her body...where was Buck and his partner?"

"Buck was gone," low whistle, "High-tailed it out of there when he found Hanson's badge. The kid though-" Low chuckle. "He was armed, scared and armed. Took a couple of potshots at us, grazed my partner and..." he trails off. He doesn't need to say it, the two can see for themselves, the damage.

He motions idly to the angry, red scar on his forehead anyway. Pointless. They can see.

"So you were both wounded. I understand here," looks down at file. Finally. Finally looks down at the file. "Det. Benson eventually subdued him. You were rendered unconscious?"

Harsh laugh. "Yeah, I was shot in the head."

Nods, more nods. "So, quick summary-" Glances at female who takes over.

"Hanson goes undercover for Manhattan SVU. The operation goes sour, she winds up dead, you wounded, and one out of two suspects are obtained."

Affirmative. Shows by nodding.

Male. His turn, her turn, his turn, her turn...his turn. "So, this brings us to Hanson's captain, and this entire set up against you." Set up, he grins, they know. They all know. Good for them.

"Yeah..." Cracks knuckles. Rests head on the metal table. It's cold, like the weather on March 6th.

"Care to tell us about this...this..." At a loss for words. There is a God in Heaven.

Female chips in quickly. Frick and Frack, Ying and Yang. "Set up. Tell us who, why, what, when, where."

Barely lifts head. Smiles teasingly. "Don't you mean who, what, when, where and why?"

Scowl. "Continue."

Exhales. Deeply. He's tired. He's very tired. "He was angry, upset. We-I killed his best detective and he. Was. Pissed. So he concocted this cock and bull story." Looks. They're itching to say, "continue." He does quickly. "He claimed that the reason I screwed up was because I was jealous. I was jealous that Liv was paying attention to another man, to this Greene guy. So when this guy dies..." Pause. Light smoldering in his crisp, tired, blue eyes. "When Greene dies, he accuses me of murder. Thinks that I killed him because I was jealous."

"You didn't though." Pointing out the obvious. No shit. Dumb, stupid. "Autopsy reports showed that he eventually succumbed to the tumor. While sleeping."

"I know." Aspirated tone. Exhausted. "But with my history of anger, and my close friendship with my partner...it seemed plausible that I would kill him."

"By everyone, I presume."

"Of course. Everyone but her. Olivia. She believed me, she rallied for me, she helped me...and they accused us of being closer than we were."

"Sexually closer?" They enjoyed saying that, he knew.

"Yeah, that's why I'm here." Wave of hand angrily, "No food for twenty four hours. Nothing but a shitty cup of coffee and a cheap cigarette."

"You're here under mandatory review, Detective."

"And?" Presses, he wants to know...needs to know.

_Whir._

_-click-_

"We're done for now. Get some rest." Fake smile. Forced. White.

"We'll be back." Sickly sweet smile from her. Sickly.

Sounds of scraping, wooden chairs against cement flooring. Door opening, door closing.

Silence. Alone. Utterly alone.

Sigh.

Pause, longer silence. _Whir. Whir. Whir. _Motions toward where they had sat, towards the end of the table, knows the recorder is taped to the underside.

"It's a damn enigma," he says aloud. The whole case, the whole thing.

An Enigma.

_Whir. Whir. Whir._

_-click-

* * *

_

**TBC...**

**Please Review.  
**


	4. Chapter 4

_Whir._

_Whir. _

_-click-_

An annoyed drumming of fingers; bone against metal. Flesh covered bone against cool, silver metal.

Another deep sigh. Sarcastic. Twinkling gleam in twin blue orbs. Exhausted crinkles. Darkening jaw. Stubble jaw.

"Well? What else could we possible go over?" Bone tired. Bone. Bone against metal.

A shrug. "You have nothing further to discuss with us?"

Rolling of eyes. "I _never_ had anything to discuss with you guys." Leans towards them, sneer on his pink lips. "I'm here against my will, remember?"

"We remember, Detective." Quips one. The man. Stone faced.

A quick snap of the fingers, towards a darkened corner. A figure steps out. A tall man.

An exchange of papers, manila folders.

A smirk. "Who's this?" Nods towards the shadowed figure.

"No one you need to worry about." Snappily. The woman. Annoyed? Of course.

Rolling of stiff neck, arms folded casually across a broad chest. "Are we done?" Change of topic.

"One last thing we need to discuss with you, Detective."

Partially opens mouth; lips cracked and dry. A sigh? A smart comment? A wet, darting tongue to moisten the dehydrated flesh?

"And what's that?" A question.

The man, the man sitting across from the smirking Detective, nudges the manila folder. Across the table. A soft scrape of coarse paper against metal. Silver metal.

Leans in, snatches up folder with reeled-in interest. "What's this?"

"A detailed account of the Gitano case."

Still air. Still, still air.

Squared jaw. Angry gleam. Red, bull neck. Flaring nostrils.

"And...?"

Tilt of head. Enjoyment. They are enjoying this.

The woman.

"We understand that your partner never took the shot."

The man.

"We also know that you chose your partner of Gitano, who at the time was armed and carrying a defenseless child."

Flippant shrug. Grinding of teeth. "First of all, she didn't take the shot because she was beaten to it by another officer. Second, I checked to see if she was alright for a brief second...I went after Gitano right away."

"No." Shaking of heads. Slowly. They know. "No, from the report, and several witness accounts, you refused to leave your partner's side until she forced you to go after Gitano. She had a superficial neck wound. She was fine, it was a just a scratch."

Leaps to feet. Anger evident. They push their seats away an inch, they hide their surprise. He paces, feet pounding the cement flooring.

"I didn't know it was superficial! How was I supposed to know that? He could have cut her artery, she could have died! How the hell do you expect me to know that it was a minor wound? How!"

Slams hands on metal table. Echoing shouts bouncing within the enclosed walls. Chest heaving. Anger, anger...

Cool, collected man. The bastard.

"So, you have no relationship with Detective Benson that you claim? No more than say, a brother or sister relationship?"

Woman, seemingly timid in her gestures. "Is there anything else you have to say?"

Harsh laugh. Sad, tired, angry laugh. Even voice, emotional expression. Too many emotions to claim it as one.

"Listen, lady. Liv and I are partners, friends. We've known each other for years, we're pals, brother and sister...nothing more." Suffering sigh. Slowly falls down onto edge of chair. Rests sweat-beaded forehead in the palm of his hand. "Dammit, Liv and I have no romantic relationship. Don't you get it? We're just friends..."

Exchange of raised eyebrows.

"I think this is everything we need. Thank you Detective for your cooperation."

_-click-_

"I can go, now?" Weary. Bleary eyed. Stands slowly, hands in pockets.

"Yes. Have a good day."

"Right." Far away, out of this world. Crazy.

He leaves. He finally leaves.

Man and woman share an expressionless look before shuffling papers.

_._

_-click-_

_-click-_

_._

_-click-_

_-click-_

"...He said something or other about God owing us one, and I agreed."

Brown eyes meet man and woman. Placid faced man and woman.

"He mentioned that day to us as well. Do you know why that is?"

A small shrug, legs crossed over one another, arms resting in her lap casually.

"Just one of those few days where everything felt right in the world...just a good day." Small, remembering smile.

"Tell us more about the case. The one involving Sandra Hanson."

Quick fluttering of eyes. "An awful day, an awful case. The shit sure hit the fan that day."

"What happened?"

A deep, soft sigh. A small smile flutters about the lips of the female Detective.

"In the words of Elliot Stabler, 'It just all went to shit.'" Looks at her nails, presses on. "I'm assuming you want the facts?"

Woman. "Just the facts."

Another smile appears and disappears from her lips. Another joke. An old memory.

"It all happened three weeks ago..."

* * *

**End.**

**Please Review.  
**


End file.
